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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745676">Empty Gun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixwithgold/pseuds/3dgrace'>3dgrace (fixwithgold)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>STARSET (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bandom - Freeform, Brain Surgery, Brain-Machine Interface, Gen, Kidnapping, Mind Control, New West Industries, Propaganda, Whump, Whumptober 2020, but like eh not really, graphic depictions of being really bored, new west: VIBE CHECK!, the Starset society</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:28:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixwithgold/pseuds/3dgrace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whumptober Day 2<br/>Prompt: In The Hands of the Enemy</p>
<p>A man appeared on the screen, stern and severe.</p>
<p>"You are hereby being audited by the Architecture. Please stand by."</p>
<p>Dustin's mic slipped out of his hand. A loud pop rang out through the venue as it hit the stage. He started to run forward, to reach out to the crowd and let them know this wasn't part of the performance.</p>
<p>"Wait!"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947046</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Empty Gun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dustin hit the last note and held his microphone aloft, taking in the noise of the crowd.</p>
<p>The stage lights all shifted to red, bathing the stage in crimson. The audience screamed in delighted surprise. Dustin turned to look at Ron in confusion, but his face was obscured by a sudden burst of strobes. Static blasted through the monitors, prompting everyone to turn and look at the backing screen, now displaying a familiar logo among scenes of marching troops and overlaid by Adam's silhouette, standing in alarm.</p>
<p>A man appeared on the screen, stern and severe.</p>
<p>"You are hereby being audited by the Architecture. Please stand by."</p>
<p>Dustin's mic slipped out of his hand. A loud pop rang out through the venue as it hit the stage. He started to run forward, to reach out to the crowd and let them know this wasn't part of the performance.</p>
<p>"Wait!"</p>
<p>The world went dark.</p>
<p>**<br/>
**<br/>
**<br/>
**</p>
<p>"So this is the Starset Society's lead asset," a voice said softly. Dustin opened his eyes and found only more darkness.</p>
<p>"The main figurehead," said someone different, their voice louder and colder than the first. "I must admit I <em>am</em> impressed by his performance."</p>
<p>"May I ask—"</p>
<p>"Go ahead."</p>
<p>"Why a band?" the softer voice asked, almost as if they were admitting a shameful lack of knowledge. "And in an unpopular genre, no less?"</p>
<p>"It's why The Starset Society is our biggest adversary." Dustin grimaced. He could guess which 'our' the voice was referring to. "Their leaders have targeted a demographic...no, several demographics that can be influenced by this product, this music and the complex web of propaganda they've woven around it. The concerts, the videos, the social media. It's all created a community of people that want nothing more than to be influenced. The Society recruited this one and the others to do all of it for them."</p>
<p>"And we're going to use that?"</p>
<p>"Precisely."</p>
<p>Use that? This was bad, this was insanely bad. Dustin tried to push against the bonds he felt around his arms and legs, to no avail.</p>
<p>"So you think he'll turn on them with enough incentive?"</p>
<p>"I don't. He's a puppet, but he also believes in their Message. He won't turn willingly."</p>
<p>"But the BMI is still in development! Wouldn't it be easier to just get them out of the way?"</p>
<p>"Have you not been listening to <em>anything</em> I've been saying?" the harsher one snapped. Dustin could practically feel the underling cringe away. "The Society's audience will listen to what these people tell them. They'll do anything to be part of the narrative, and when their precious band is advertising our BMI? The advantage is well worth the cost. Now get out before you say anything else that's intolerably stupid."</p>
<p>Then came the sound of footsteps hurrying away. Dustin struggled against his restraints again. Suddenly light assaulted his eyes as the blindfold was torn off his face. He blinked furiously and squinted against the light until he adjusted.</p>
<p>His captor was a woman he recognized from a Society briefing, although her name was escaping him. She had straight red hair—closer to orange, really—that cut off abruptly at her shoulders, with bangs cut across her forehead in a line that was almost as sharp as the scowl on her face. She wore all white clothes, including a lab coat.</p>
<p>Dustin glanced around the room, searching for some sort of indication of where he was. None of his friends were in the room, which was whiter and more sterile than any hospital he'd ever seen. Hopefully it was a good thing that nobody else was in the room with them; maybe that meant he'd been the only one captured.</p>
<p>"I suppose you heard that whole conversation," Orange Hair said with a roll of her eyes that belied the existence of any actual concern about how much he'd heard. "Welcome to New West, Mr. Bates."</p>
<p>That settled that, then. He'd figured it wasn't the FEC; they weren't the type to do anything that might rouse suspicion from the public before they'd established a global superpower.</p>
<p>"You should probably let me go before somebody comes after you for pulling this shit," Dustin said.</p>
<p>Orange Hair scoffed.</p>
<p>"I appreciate the warning, but I assure you that your people will be far too late."</p>
<p>"I'm not going to work for you."</p>
<p>Orange Hair stared at him for a moment before her face drew up into a chilling, almost predatory smile.</p>
<p>"I'm glad you feel that way, Mr. Bates, because when you do start to see things from our perspective—and you will, believe me—it'll make New West's victory that much sweeter."</p>
<p>Dustin just glared at her, but his mind was racing. The BMI was a mind-control device disguised as an advantageous next step in neurotechnology, but the technology wasn't supposed to be anywhere near refined enough for New West to use it for their ultimate goal. The other voice had even said it was still in development before they'd been kicked out by Orange Hair, so what were they going to do to him?</p>
<p>"The guitarist is already undergoing our process, and I'm happy to report that it's working very well. You'll be the last one. Fans do get <em>so </em>attached to the singer. Wouldn't do to have something happen to you."</p>
<p>Shit. So they did have the others. What the hell was the "process" she was talking about? If they'd hurt Brock...</p>
<p>Something buzzed, and Orange Hair pulled a phone out of the pocket of her lab coat and looked at something on the screen for a moment, then gave a satisfied "hmm!" and looked back up at Dustin.</p>
<p>"Good news! You're getting a wardrobe update. Those tattered-looking outfits just won't do for the image we're going to project. You'll get to see the new look later. For now, just wait here." She smirked at that, obviously amused at Dustin's lack of a choice in the matter. "And cooperate with the neuroscientists. They're sensitive."</p>
<p>The clacking of heels on the hard floor, then silence.</p>
<p>Dustin tugged at the ties around his limbs again, but what he could now see were large metal cuffs showed no signs of budging. He let his head fall back against the pseudo-dentist-chair he was attached to and sighed, filling his lungs with as much chemical-tinged air as he could to stifle the anxiety building in his chest. As far as bad situations went, it didn't get much worse than being strapped to a chair in an unknown location with the looming threat of whatever "process" Orange Hair was talking about. What they were doing to Brock as Dustin could only sit and fret about it.</p>
<p>It could be a bluff, he thought, but what would be the point of that after the whole conversation he'd overheard? To make him desperate enough to turn on the Society of his own will?</p>
<p>It had to have been at least an hour. The wondering was starting to become unbearable, but right when Dustin began to think about White Room torture, a clicking noise startled him. Part of the ceiling opened and a small screen descended from the previously invisible hatch.</p>
<p>It occurred to him that whatever appeared on the screen might not be something he would want to look at, so he lowered his head and watched through barely-open eyes.</p>
<p>The screen flickered to life, but all it showed was a white background.</p>
<p>Dustin was about to give up and open his eyes fully when the screen changed just enough to be of interest. Black text appeared over the white background.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hello.</em>
</p>
<p>And it didn't change.</p>
<p>Dustin opened his eyes and glared at the screen in disbelief. Hello? That was it?</p>
<p>Well, fine. There was nothing to do about it, so he closed his eyes all the way and mentally crossed his arms, hoping the people watching the cameras he couldn't see but knew were in the room could tell.</p>
<p>But the lingering idea that the message on the screen might change forced him to check again. And when it hadn't changed at all, he laughed at himself and resolved not to look again.</p>
<p>He was only human, though, so of course he <em>did</em>. Several more times. And the sixth or seventh time, the text vanished. Dustin sat straight up as well as he could with his arms locked down.</p>
<p>Then it came back.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hello.</em>
</p>
<p>He sat back, irrationally disappointed.</p>
<p>"Hello," he sighed at the screen.</p>
<p>
  <em>Welcome to New West.</em>
</p>
<p>Dustin blinked in surprise, then laughed to himself. It wanted him to talk to it.</p>
<p>"Not especially thrilled to be here."</p>
<p>
  <em>You are a human being.</em>
</p>
<p>"Uh, yes?"</p>
<p>
  <em>Therefore, you require occupation to retain your full mental faculties and emotional stability.</em>
</p>
<p>Okay, that didn't sound promising.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>
  <em>The current time is 11 o' clock. You will be provided with visual entertainment until your appointment.</em>
</p>
<p>"My 'appointment?' With the neuroscientists and their 'process?'"</p>
<p>
  <em>You are not to try to leave. You will be provided with sustenance should your hosts deem it necessary to your well-being.</em>
</p>
<p>"What time is my appointment?"</p>
<p>
  <em>Enjoy.</em>
</p>
<p>Then the screen faded to black.</p>
<p>Dustin frowned. It couldn't be 11, right? PM <em>or </em>AM. It had already been late when the show started, and though he didn't know for sure how long he'd been out, it didn't feel like he'd been unconscious for such a long time. It was possible, he supposed, but it seemed more likely that the computer was lying about the time to disorient him.</p>
<p>The screen flickered to life again, this time with a burst of sound that startled Dustin out of his reasoning. He could tell it was one of their propaganda videos just from the first few frames of grinning people. Some entertainment. Dustin sighed and shifted on his chair, trying to rotate his wrists into a more comfortable position while the video played.</p>
<p>
  <em>"The BMI, by New West Industries!"</em>
</p>
<p>The first propaganda piece was exactly as boring as he'd expected, and the second and third were no better, but at least it was something to fill the sensory void of the white room. A fourth and fifth video played, but they might as well have both been the second video in slightly different orders.</p>
<p>And then the fifth video ended and the first one started to play again. Dustin groaned.</p>
<p>"Alexa, change the channel," he said, mostly for his own amusement, but partially to see if the computer would be offended at being compared to a home remote controller. Predictably, nothing happened, and the videos just continued to loop.</p>
<p>And loop.</p>
<p>And loop. </p>
<p>And when Dustin got bored enough to tune them out entirely, the volume got louder, which wasn't a problem at first. After all, Dustin was no stranger to loud noise. But it just kept increasing, and it sounded like the audio was distorting as well to be more insistent and grating.</p>
<p>After a couple hours of that, Dustin was well and truly sick of it. He wouldn't call it torture, necessarily. At least, not yet. A day or more of this would definitely count, but for now, he was more annoyed that he was instinctively memorizing the videos.</p>
<p>"You'll be able to revisist that memory anytime, anywhere!" Dustin said sarcastically, in time with the video. He'd seen enough movies to know they were probably counting on the human tendency to remember things that were repeated as part of what was almost definitely an evil brainwashing scheme. </p>
<p>"I don't think it'll work if I know you're doing it," Dustin said to the computer, then jumped as a previously invisible door opened in the wall in front of him. </p>
<p>"I assure you the process is in no way dependent on your ignorance about it," said the man who walked through the door and stood off to the side of it. Like Orange Hair, he wore all-white clothes and a pristine lab coat. He carried an oddly analog clipboard--just a plain piece of wood and metal surrounded by futuristic minimalism--which he glanced at occasionally. His hair was mousy brown, cropped neatly, and he was clean-shaven. Dustin didn't recognize him from any of the propaganda videos or Society briefings.</p>
<p>"Did you guys make budget cuts in the entertainment department to pay for seamless hatches and bleach to keep the walls clean?" Dustin asked. The man ignored him. "Because no cooling system has filters good enough to keep all pollutants out of here, and they're going to discolor--"</p>
<p>"I'm the scientist assigned to escort you to your next destination and brief you on behavioral expectations," the man interrupted. "If you have any questions that are genuine, feel free to ask. I may or may not answer them."</p>
<p>The scientist somehow caused a part of the blank white wall near the door to open. A small screen emerged with a quiet whir, then retreated after he gave it a few quick taps. A tinny beep sounded and echoed slightly through the room as the scientist walked briskly over to stand next to Dustin's chair and put his hand on the back. Dustin briefly considered trying to bite him before a pneumatic hiss interrupted him and a square of the flooring began to descend, taking them with it.</p>
<p>"Seriously, the panelling. Why." </p>
<p>"That's very amusing." </p>
<p>Another hiss, and they stopped inside a small alcove on a new floor that might as well have been exactly the same, except for the fact that it was largely a hallway with a slightly raised track running down the center of the floor. Dustin's chair moved, seemingly on its own, out of the alcove, along the track and down the hall while the scientist walked beside it. There were similar recesses placed further down the hallway, presumably so chairs could descend from other containment rooms.</p>
<p>Despite the danger of the situation, Dustin couldn't help but feel slightly ridiculous being carted around on a scaled-up Hot Wheels track. </p>
<p>He was about to suggest a normal elevator and letting captives walk places when the scientist spoke.</p>
<p>"Before we get to your destination we need to discuss how you'll be expected to conduct yourself. I hope you're less trouble than your friend was. His screaming got annoying." </p>
<p>"Why was he screaming?" Dustin demanded, trying to sound more angry than scared. The scientist rolled his eyes and looked down at his clipboard.</p>
<p>"He was being difficult, so we had to change tactics. This is really only as unpleasant as you make it. Anyway, you are not to struggle or attempt to fight anyone at any point. Silence is preferred, but not strictly enforced."</p>
<p>The chair came to a sudden stop in front of--surprise--a part of the wall that looked exactly like the rest of the wall. Seams appeared in it and two halves slid apart to reveal a new room that the track ran into.</p>
<p>"Here we are. Your very own Room 101!"</p>
<p>Dustin's chair followed the track into the room, which was somehow even brighter than the previous room or the hallway, and even more unnervingly sterile. The reason for that, he realized with a note of growing panic, was because it was essentially an operating room. A rolling cart with a display of neatly-arranged surgical tools sat off to the left. A stack of monitors sat behind that, with a space next to both of them that the chair's track stopped in.</p>
<p>A wave of vertigo rolled over Dustin as it suddenly occured to him that oh fuck, this was actually happening. Until that point there had only been the vague threat of something really bad about to happen, but now he was in a literal operating room, bound to a chair, in a building run by people who abducted him and his friends. It was out of a piece of science fiction media or a nightmare, except it was real and there was nothing he could do. </p>
<p>"Wait," he said as the chair turned 180 degrees to face the door, putting the monitors behind him. The scientist just hummed, placed his clipboard on a counter, and started placing electrodes on Dustin's temples. "Stop, you can't--"</p>
<p>The scientist shoved something rubbery and horseshoe-shaped into Dustin's mouth. He let it fall out of his mouth and saw that his hands were shaking, attached as they were to the arms of the chair. </p>
<p>"Have it your way," the scientist sighed.</p>
<p>Dustin heard a click.</p>
<p> </p>
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